


Not by Chance

by Novels



Series: Reprise [8]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: I should have made this a tag sooner, M/M, Meddling Michael, Mild Language, book-verse, dumb people in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 19:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20475998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novels/pseuds/Novels
Summary: Elio and Michael chat a bit longer, play a bit longer, and judge each other a bit longer.Then Oliver returns.Isn't this an awful summary? One day I'll learn how to write them.As always, a direct continuation ofHoly Shrinesthat won't make much sense if read alone.





	Not by Chance

**Author's Note:**

> I sometimes get the urge to write from Michael or Oliver's pov, but I am set on telling this story from Elio's perspective. Sooner or later I might add a ficlet from Michael's evil pov, though. The temptation is hard to resist...  
Enjoy!

I took refuge in the music and I played with precision, the melody flowing seamlessly. It was a sweet piece, full of tenderness and light. Even in its incomplete status, it already sounded like a heartfelt, pure declaration of love. It would become one of my longest compositions, the acts adding up throughout the years, catching up with our lives. 

I let the last notes linger in the silence for a moment, then I turned to Michael expectantly.

"This is incredibly beautiful," he said, his eyes twinkling. "It feels so delicate."

I nodded, caressing the keys affectionately. "It's for my goddaughter, Chloé. She's my best friend Marzia's only child. I must admit she has me quite wrapped around her finger." At 3, Chloé was a force of nature, a sweet little girl with her mother's sharp wit. Whenever I visited her in Paris, she would demand I sit at the family's piano and play for her while she sat on my lap, her hands moving as if she wanted to conduct my performance. 

"You can tell," he said, smiling next to me on the bench.

I was still feeling a bit off-kilter, our earlier conversation swirling in my head. Michael knew about me and his father, and he didn't mind. Indeed, he had brushed off the situation with a shrug, as if it were perfectly acceptable and nothing worth spending many words on. I was surprised by the sheer amount of relief that I was feeling, even though I should have expected it. Oliver cared immensely for his sons and I was quite convinced he would reconsider our relationship for their sake, if they didn't approve. I would have to tell him Michael knew, unless his son did it first. I wouldn't put it past him, although cornering your father's lover did seem easier than cornering your own father.

"Do you have children?" Michael asked, his tone back to alarmingly neutral, pushing me off-balance a bit more. Didn't this kid have filters?

I shook my head, hoping he wouldn't ask--

"Why not?" 

Go figure. Because I spent the best part of the last twenty years pushing away anyone who wanted a serious relationship with me, since I kept comparing them to the memory of your father and they never quite matched up. See how you like that for an answer.

I shrugged away the truth. "It never quite felt the right moment, or the right person."

Michael was staring at me somewhat bashfully. 

"That was a rather personal question, wasn't it? Dad always tells me I should weigh my words before I speak but I'm not very good at it."

I found myself smiling at him quite without noticing. He might have spooked me with his direct questions, but he was Oliver's son, after all. Direct, and a bit loud, and apparently very sure of himself. I wondered how much of it was a facade, and if he wasn't secretly shy, just like his father. 

"Don't worry about it. I think you might be entitled to a few personal questions, all things considered."

He nodded and seemed to relax a bit. "Do you want some, in the future?"

"Children, you mean? I haven't really given it much thought. And considering the situation, I don't think it's ever gonna be an option."

"My brother is really insufferable," he said, and it felt like a non-sequitur for a moment. I stared at him for a moment before I understood what he wasn't saying. I chuckled lightly.

"Don't worry, Michael, I don't think you're gonna get a new one any time soon. But, speaking of your brother," I said, hesitating slightly. "Does he know about your father and me, too?"

He shook his head. "I haven't told him, and I doubt he found out on his own. But I could tell him later."

"I-- I think it might be best if Oliver told him when he's ready. He would have told you, too, when the right time came. You know, you have found out about a story that might very well have remained in the past for the rest of our lives, if things had gone differently. And now, well, everything is really, really new, and we will have to find a way to make everything work, and I don't think we want to rush into this. It'll take time to adjust. I don't think Oliver would want you to know until he's sure that, well--"

"That you won't leave him as he did?"

I was taken aback by his words. They didn't feel judgemental but they did sound, for a lack of a better word, aware. "How many of those letters have you read, Michael?" 

How many were there, for that matter?

He tried his best to not look guilty and only failed a bit. "Enough to understand what happened..."

I took a moment to pray for Oliver to have written only sappy, sad letters that made no explicit reference to what we had been doing during our nights together. Just a little mercy, God, so that this child could avoid being scarred for life. 

I sighed and stood to fetch something to drink for both of us. 

"They were different times, Michael," I said as I sipped my juice. "Your father had to leave and I had to stay in Italy. We made our choices and have lived with them. And I think for a long time we managed to be happy with them."

"But now you're back together."

God, we were. It felt surreal even to think it. "Yeah, yes. We are, and I'm not leaving, and I hope your father won't either. But it's still too soon to tell whether we'll really make this work."

Michael looked at me seriously, too seriously for a sixteen-year-old, and nodded. I did feel as if I'd just passed a test I wasn't aware I was taking. 

"I hope you do," he said, and I couldn't agree more.

***

Oliver arrived a few moments later, his younger child in stride. Jesse was tall for his age, fair-haired like the rest of the family but with dark, expressive eyes. He was wearing his basketball jersey and was half-heartedly dragging his gym bag behind him, in a perfect portrayal of a worn-out thirteen-year-old, satisfied after an exhausting session on the field. 

He gave me a curious once-over when Oliver introduced us, but paid no more attention to me, collapsing on the sofa in a heap of gangly limbs. 

"Can I play Snake on your phone?" he asked his father expectantly.

Oliver was about to relinquish his phone when Michael interrupted him.

"Isn't it better we get going, Jesse? If we leave now we'll be home in time to see  _ The O.C. _ "

Jesse stood up immediately, bouncing on his feet. Apparently he liked _ The O.C., _ whatever that was. 

"Oh, yeah, Michael, let's go!" he said, forgetting Snake, his father and me in a heartbeat. 

"Are you sure you want to take the subway home, Michael?" asked Oliver. "I can drive you home, it's no big deal."

Michael shook his head. "I'm sure, dad, no reason for you to go all the way home and back. We know how to use the subway, it won't be a problem."

Oliver still looked a bit unconvinced, and I saw him throw Michael a suspicious glance as he handed him some money for the tickets.

"Call when you are home, please, and be careful on the subway," he told his children.

"Sure dad," answered Michael for both of them. "See you soon, Elio!"

And in the blink of an eye, Oliver and I were left alone.

"Is it me or did that sound like it was a rushed retreat?" asked Oliver, pointing at the closed door. He looked perplexed, his eyebrows slightly creased as he tried to guess what his children were up to. He looked lovely, dressed in a light blue shirt that matched his eyes and did nothing to hide his toned body. He looked  _ edible _ , like a ripe peach ready to be harvested by a greedy hand. I walked up to him, debating whether to tell him about Michael now. Up close, he also smelled delicious, a trace of cologne fighting with his scent, drawing me in. It could wait a few minutes, I decided, as I hummed noncommittally and wrapped my arms around his waist, placing a kiss on his small frown, on the tip of his nose, on the strip of skin that I could reach through his collar. I lingered there, breathing in his scent, placing an open-mouthed kiss on his collarbone that made him throw his head back, giving me better access. His hands moved to my hair, then to my neck, his fingertips resuming the soft massage he had begun earlier. He guided my mouth back to his, chasing my lips for a kiss as I dragged it out, mouth open over his, my tongue caressing his lips, anticipation rising. He surged forward, closing the distance, hot and impatient. 

We stumbled to the sofa, falling on it carelessly, our hands fighting with our clothes to get to the skin. Our kisses felt like surrender, like the relief that comes after you stop fighting with yourself, after you leave a battlefield that has raged within you for so long that you have stopped noticing it. 

His hands, so big and strong, held me close, closer, a heavy weight on my back as I straddled him. We stayed like that for a long time, our famished kisses turning into soft, delicate pecks, our bodies settling into a comfortable position, exchanging heat, sharing a heartbeat. Eventually, I rested my head against his chest, breathing lightly, feeling content. I wondered what we looked like together, whether an external observer could see the happy glow I could sense surrounding us, the bubble of love, and gratitude, and elation that came with the awareness that we had found each other once more, not by chance, not because destiny threw us back together, but because we both made a decision, took a risk, and reached out for the other.

"Oliver," I murmured into his chest, not wanting to ruin the moment but feeling the need to tell him. "Don't freak out, but Michael knows."

I felt him stir. "Know what?" His voice vibrated against my body.

"About us." He tensed and tried to sit up, but my body held him in place.

"How?" he asked, as he settled back against the cushions, his subdued, neutral tone reminding me of his son's.

"He told me he found your letters in your office years ago." I hesitated. "And that you have a tell-tale hickey on your neck."

Oliver groaned and rubbed his face with one hand. "Fuck,” he said, and muttered the word a few more times. “Was he upset? What did he tell you? I'll have to talk to him." I could feel his anxiety grow and I reached out for his face, caressing his cheek.

"He is fine with it, Oliver. With us. He seemed remarkably unfazed by all this. Actually, he had the guts of teasing me about it. Your child can be rather terrifying, if you ask me."

He let out a short laugh and I felt him relax a bit under me. 

"Was he really OK with this?" I could feel the worry in his question, barely concealed. I hesitated, thinking about it. 

"I think so, Oliver. He seemed sincere when he told me he hopes we make this work. As long as we don't make him another brother, that is." I threw that last sentence in to lighten the mood, and I felt Oliver snort lightly. 

"Yeah, that sounds like something he would make sure of right away," he said, and I could practically feel his eyes roll. 

"Your son is really quite something, Oliver," I told him. "I think we'll get along just fine, as long as he doesn't give me another heart attack and ends my life early."

Oliver placed a kiss on my hair. "God, I’m glad he’s OK with us being together. I’m sorry he jumped you like this. Do you know if he told Jesse?"

"It’s quite alright, Oliver. He said he didn't, and that he'll let you tell Jesse when you think the time is right." 

He let out a relieved sigh. "I'll talk to Michael later, I think I owe him an explanation. And Jesse -- I don't know if it's the right time to tell him yet. Everything feels so new, Elio, and to be honest I don't want to share you with anyone else for a bit longer."

I hummed in assent, snuggling impossibly closer. His arms tightened around me once more, holding me as if he never wanted to let me go. Please, don't ever let me go. 

"You know I'm yours, only. I've always been yours, from the moment we kissed on the grass at the berm. I'll always be yours." I spoke into his chest, not quite meeting his eyes, the sentiment true, but still not easy to confess.

He lifted my chin so that he could look at me in the eyes. 

"Thank you." His kiss was so soft, so tender, so precious. I lost myself in his arms, and for a while nothing else mattered, nothing else existed, but our souls cherishing our reunion.

**Author's Note:**

> Truth be told, Wikipedia informs me that _The O.C._ aired at 9.00 p.m. in America starting August 5, 2003. In Italy, unless I'm mixing up TV series, _The O.C._ aired in the late afternoon and was a must among teenagers. My sister and I wouldn't have missed it for the world. So in this fic, _The O.C._ airs in the afternoon in America as well, realism be damned!  
Also, for the younger generations out there, Snake was a game for Nokia mobiles, both hugely addictive and hugely annoying. 10/10 would recommend.


End file.
